Extant
by Fallcreek
Summary: Arcade is a freelancer in the underground world of crime. Resigned as a loner, Arcade makes a living by fulfilling various contracts she's given. She's in Liberty City to fulfill a standard kill and collect for a client. It's seemingly routine and Arcade does so with ease, only to find herself in the middle of an ambush and fighting for her life.
1. Lonesome Hunter

If you're reading this, I sincerely thank you for checking out my first fan fiction.. like ever. I've mostly stuck to writing scripts and doing machinima for my Youtube channel, but on a whim decided to seriously try to write something. This is the product.

Arcade isn't a new character for me. She derived from my GTA Online character, which in turn evolved into a character for this "Chain Story" I contributed to on GTAForums, then from there I made a machinima based on some.. dramatized exploits I've done with my friends. I'd post the links but you can't even copy/paste! If you're curious anyhow, just google "Impulse GTA V Machinima" and you'll find some of the stuff I've done.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read.

* * *

 _ **One**_

 _Leftwood, Alderney, Liberty City_

 _Monday_

 _6:30 AM_

The target looked a lot older than in the photographs. The deep yellow glow from the streetlight accentuated the deep lines in his face and pallid, almost sickly complexion. To Arcade, the man seemed on edge, either high on nervous energy or maybe just had one too many cups of coffee from the local Bean Machine. But whatever the reason was, it wasn't going to matter thirty seconds from now.

The name on the dossier was Levi Stratov. Latvian national. 58 years old, 5'9 inches tall. 160 pound, he was right handed. No noticeable scars and his hair were graying. Cut short and neat, as was his beard. His eyes were dark blue, and he wore glasses for his shortsightedness. He was smartly dressed, a dark suit beneath his overcoat, polished shoes. With both hands, he clutches a small leather attaché case to his stomach.

At the entrance to the alleyway in Leftwood, Stratov glanced over his shoulder, an amateurish move, too obvious to trip up a shadow, too quick to register one if he did. In Arcade's experience, people often paid more attention to what could be behind them, instead of what lay ahead. Stratov didn't see the woman standing in the shadows just a few yards away. The woman who was there to kill him.

Arcade waited until Stratov had passed out of the light before squeezing the trigger with smooth, even pressure.

Two suppressed _thwacks_ interrupted the early morning stillness. Stratov was hit in the sternum, twice in rapid succession. The bullets were low powered, subsonic 5.7mm but larger rounds could have been no more fatal. Copper-encased lead tore through skin, bone and heart before lodging side by side between vertebrae. Stratov collapsed backward, hitting the ground with a dull thud, arms outstretched, head rolling to one side.

Arcade melted out of the darkness and took a measured step forward. She angled the Hawk & Little Five-seveN and put another bullet through Stratov's temple. He was already gone, but in Arcade's opinion, there was no such thing as overkill when on the job.

The expended cartridge clinked on the pavement and came to a rest in a puddle shimmering with sodium-orange light. A quiet whistling from the twin bullet holes in Stratov's chest was the only other sound. Air was escaping from the still inflated lungs-the last breath he never had a chance to release.

The morning was cold and dark, the approaching dawn only beginning to tinge the sky with orange-purplish colours. Arcade was practically in the heart of Alderney, in a township called "Leftwood". It was a multi-cultural, working class place, lined with winding avenues and various back streets. The alleyway Arcade was in with Stratov's body was secluded enough, no overlooking windows but Arcade spent a few minutes making sure nobody had observed the killing. No one could have heard it, with the subsonic ammunition and the suppressor, the noise of each shot would have been muffled, with only the noticeable sound being the slide racking back after each pull of the trigger, but even with that it wouldn't stop the random chance of someone deciding this particular alleyway was a good place to relieve themselves.

Satisfied she was alone; Arcade squatted down next to the body, careful to avoid the gore draining from the quarter-inch exit wound in his victim's temple. Using her left hand, Arcade unzipped the attaché case and checked inside. The item was there as she expected but otherwise the case was empty. Arcade took the flash drive and slipped it into her coat pocket. Small and innocuous, it barely seemed reason enough to have the man killed, but seemingly it was. One reason was as good as another, Arcade reminded herself. It was all a matter of perspective, atleast that's what liked to tell herself.

She frisked the body thoroughly to confirm there was nothing else she should know about. Just pocket litter and a wallet, which Arcade opened and tilted into the dim, yellow light. It contained the usual: credit cards, a driver license in the Latvian's name, cash as well as a faded photograph of a younger Stratov with the wife and kids. Arcade exhaled out and pursed her lips.

Slipping the wallet back into Stratov's pocket, Arcade rose back to her feet, mentally rechecking how many rounds she'd fired. Two to the chest, one to the head. 17 left in the Five-seveN's magazine. It was simple math but protocol nonetheless. She knew the day she lost would be the day she squeezed the trigger only to hear the dreaded dead man's click. She'd heard it before when the gun had been in another's hand and she'd promised herself then that she would never die like that.

Her gaze swept the area again for signs of potential exposure. There were no people or cars in sight, no footsteps to be heard. Arcade unscrewed the suppressor and placed it into a pocket of her coat. With the suppressor in place, the gun was too long to be properly concealed and too slow to draw with speed. She turned on the spot, locating and retrieving the 3 empty cartridges from the ground before the spreading blood reached them. Two were still warm but the one from the puddle was cool.

The half-moon was bright in the sky above, somewhere beyond the stars the universe continued forever, but from where Arcade stood, the world was small and time was all too short. She could feel her pulse, slow and steady within the morning air but maybe 4 whole beats per minute above her resting heart rate. She was surprised it was so high. She wanted a drink. These days, she always did.

She left the alley, shoes virtually silent on the hard, uneven ground. She'd been in Alderney for a week awaiting the go-ahead-and she was glad the job was almost over. All that remained was to stash that item tonight and contact that broker with it's location. It hadn't been a difficult or even risky contract; if anything it had been simple, easy. A standard kill and collect. She felt it was beneath her, but if the client was willing to pay her outrageous fee for a job any amateur freelancer could have fulfilled, it wasn't Arcade's place to argue. Though something in the back of her mind warned her that it had been too easy.

Before she reintegrated herself with the city, she took one last look at the man she'd murdered without word or conscience. In the dim light, she saw the wide, accusing stare of her victim staring after her. The whites already black from the hemorrhaging.


	2. The Going Price for Home

**_TWO_**

 _8:24 AM_

 _Middle Park, Algonquin, Liberty City_

There were two of them.

Medium build, casually attired, nothing remarkable about either except for the fact that they were too unremarkable. The Emissary was on the intersection of Columbus Avenue and Manganese Street near Middle Park and its guests were wealthy tourists and business executives, men and woman adorned with designer garments. In an everyday crowd, the two would've blended in, but not here.

Arcade saw them the instant she was through the main entrance. They were standing in front of the elevators at the far end of the ornate lobby, their backs to her. Both stood completely still, one with hands in pockets and the other with arms folded, waiting. If any words passed between them, they did so without any change in body language.

The grand lobby was quiet, less than a dozen people occupying space. It had a high ceiling, marbled floor and pillars, an abundance of exotic potted plants set throughout, green leather armchairs grouped together in the corners and central space. Arcade headed toward the front desk that ran along the wall to her right, walking at a relaxed, casual pace despite the potential danger. She kept the men in her peripheral vision at all times, ready to act should one look her way. She hadn't fully made up her mind about the duo but in Arcade's business, a potential threat was a definite thread until proved otherwise. In the lobby she was exposed, vulnerable, but nothing in her demeanor betrayed that. She drew no attention from the other people in the room. She acted and looked just like them-uninterested.

Fellow practitioners of Arcade's profession were popularly believed to dress only in black but looking like a cliché wasn't high on Arcade's priorities. Like most people, she looked good in black, too good for someone whose life might depend on going unnoticed. Dressed in a charcoal suit, white cotton shirt and matching black tie, Arcade looked every inch the respectable businesswoman. The suit was wool, off the rack, excellent quality but one size too big to give her some extra room at the hips, thighs, arms and shoulders, but without appearing too ill fitting. Her glasses were simple and haircut trimmed into a long bob, parted right with her only anomaly being her canvas shoes. It was the only defining physical trait about her, besides the glasses as it would stand out to certain crowds as she should be wearing oxfords, but alas she chose to wear those canvas shoes as they reminded her of a simpler time.

She chose the attire to create a bland, neutral persona. Anyone who tried to remember Arcade would find it difficult to describe her accurately. She was a woman in a suit, like millions of others in the city, aside from the glasses the only distinguishing feature that might go unnoticed aside from the shoes. She was smart about being stylish, neat but ordinary. Confident but not arrogant. Forgettable.

She reached the desk and smiled politely as the raven-haired receptionist looked up from her work. She had tanned skin and large eyes, her features skillfully and subtly made up. Her returning smile was cheerfully shallow. She hid it well but Arcade knew she would rather be anywhere else.

 _"Hello"_ Arcade said, but not too loudly. _"I'm calling from Room 407. I'm Ms. Rieper, can you tell me if I received any messages?"_

 _"Just one moment, please."_

She made a curt nod and checked the log. There was a large mirror mounted on the wall behind the desk in which Arcade watched the reflections of the two men. The elevator doors opened they parted to allow a couple to exit before entering themselves, almost in unison. He saw their hands, they were wearing gloves.

Arcade moved position to get an angle on the elevator interior but could see only the reflection of one of the men inside. Arcade kept her head tilted to one side, her face partially shielded in case the man looked her way. The man had fair skin and a square face. Clean shaven. He wore a focused expression, staring straight ahead, arms limp at his sides. His gloves were brown leather. Either he had a deformed ribcage or something handgun shaped was concealed beneath his nylon jacket. Any doubts Arcade harboured about their motives now evaporated.

Were they the LCPD? No, she decided. It was barely two hours since she'd took out Stratov and there was no way she could have been linked to the crime in such a short time frame. They weren't operatives either. Intelligence agents wouldn't need to wear gloves. That left only one occupation.

Arcade guessed Eastern European—a Czech or Hungarian or maybe from the Balkans, which tended to produce particularly effective killers. She'd seen two but there could have easily been more. Two guns are better than one, but a whole team would be better still for obvious reasons, especially when the target was an experienced fixer. Only the very best can afford to work alone.

The way the men acted suggested there were others. They had no care of their surroundings, no worry about security. That said surveillance. That in turn spoke of a larger team. There could be as few as 4 or as many as 10. If there were more, Arcade didn't give herself much of a chance.

The fact that they knew where she was staying required a considerable level of proficiency or accuracy of intelligence. Until Arcade knew who she was up against, she couldn't afford to underestimate them. She had to work on the assumption that they were atleast her equal. Should she be proved wrong it would only work to her advantage.

The receptionist finished checking the log and shook her head. _"I'm sorry Miss, no messages for you at the moment."_

As Arcade thanked her, she watched the man in the elevator focused expression disappear, replaced for a moment with pain or deep concentration. The man raised a finger to his right ear before looking quickly to his associate. His mouth opened to speak as he reached to stop the doors from shutting, but he was too late, Arcade managed to read the first words on his lips before the doors closed.

 _She's in the lobby._

They were wearing radios, she's been spotted.

Arcade turned around and surveyed the area, taking a few seconds to study each person in case she'd missed other members of the kill team. The natural reaction to the imminent threat would be to act immediately. In the physiological response to danger the adrenal glands flooded her bloodstream with adrenaline to increase her heart rate, to make the body ready for action. But relying on instinct was not something she welcomed. In the wild, it only ever came down to two choices-fight or flight. For Arcade, decisions were rarely that simple.

She swallowed down the adrenaline jolt, breathed deeply, forcing her body to calm down again. She needed to think, there was nothing to gain by acting quickly if in doing so she did the wrong thing. In Arcade's line of work, those who made the first mistake were rarely around long enough to make a second.

She counted 10 people in the lobby. A middle-aged man, and his trophy escort were heading toward the adjoining bar. A group of stiff-backed old men sat on the leather chairs laughing. The alluring receptionist was stifling a yawn. Walking near the exit a business man shouted into his cell phone. Near the elevator, a mother struggled to control her toddler. No one who might be with the two men, but more could be entering the hotel through the tradesman's entrance at the back or maybe through the kitchen, simultaneously cutting off all avenues of retreat as they closed in on their prey. It was text book, but no use if that prey wasn't where she was supposed to be.

For whatever reason, their timing was off and the plan they'd been following had seemingly fallen apart. They would be shaken, worried they had been compromised and that their target might escape. They'd lost sight of her, and needed to reestablish that contact, or perhaps they would just abandon any pretense of stealth and try to kill her now, while they thought her vulnerable and off guard. Arcade had no intentions of being either.

She studied the display above the elevator. It flashed 4, reaching her floor. She watched it intently for a moment. A few seconds later, it flashed 3, on the way back down.

Arcade glanced at the main entrance. If she left now, she would only have those on surveillance outside to contend with. They might not be prepared to go after her out in the street, and if she was as fast as she thought, she might escape without a single shot fired. But she couldn't leave. In her hotel room, she had her passport and credit cards. All for a false identity but they already knew too much about her.

She could use the stairs but not if one of them had taken that way down to make sure she didn't. Because there was another problem, she was unarmed. The H&L Five-seveN that killed Stratov had been stripped and each component disposed of separately. The barrel dumped in the Humboldt River, slide down a storm drain, guide rod and recoil spring in a dumpster, magazine in a trash can. Arcade only ever used a gun once. Walking around with all the evidence a jury would ever need to convict her was not her style. If she could get to her backup, she could atleast defend herself properly.

There was only one functioning elevator though. An out-of-order sign dangled from the other's doors. Arcade strolled across the lobby and stood in front of the working elevator the two men had used. She exhaled a slow breath until the ting reverberated throughout the lobby. Just before the doors began to open, Arcade stepped to one side and pressed her back against the adjacent wall in a small recess where an elaborately decorated vase stood. She remained motionless, ignoring the bewildered gaze of a 5-year-old boy. Everyone else was too preoccupied to notice her.

One of the two assassins walked out of the elevator and took a few steps into the lobby. The second didn't follow, obviously on her way down through the stairwell. The man with his back to Arcade was compact, thick at the neck, ex-military by his build and gait. He was standing casually, no head movement. Even though apparently motionless, Arcade figured he was surveying the room, but with his head fixed, just moving his eyes not wanting to draw unnecessary attention his way. He was good, but not so good as to look behind himself.

Arcade waited until the last possible moment before slipping between the closing elevator doors. She passed within six inches of the assassin.

A second before the doors fully closed, the man noticed the young boy pointing in Arcade's direction and turned. Random chance. For an instant, the man looked directly at Arcade.

Recognition flashed in the assassin's eyes.

The doors closed.


	3. Delirium Trigger

**Three**

 _8:27 AM_

Arcade took a series of deep breaths, pulling the air into the very bottom of her lungs, holding it to the count of four before exhaling. The adrenaline in her system caused her heart rate to soar to better supply her muscles with essential oxygen. But beyond 120 beats per minute, the ability to use find more skills-those that require small muscle movements such as lining up a set of iron sights were greatly reduced. At above 130, those skills are virtually impossible. To the body, such abilities aren't immediately necessary to survival.

Arcade would beg to differ.

By controlling her breathing, Arcade interrupted the normal workings of the autonomic nervous system, effectively putting the brakes on her climbing heart rate. Arcade couldn't override her instincts, but fortunately could manipulate them.

She figured the guy in the lobby wouldn't waste any time in contacting his team, informing them they had been compromised and the target was on the move, heading upstairs. Arcade could get off at any floor, find a window and be gone in a matter of moments, but she needed her effects. If the kill team didn't get to them, the authorities certainly would've. Her passports had stamps of countries and dates, credit card numbers could be traced. The gun would ensure they investigated her thoroughly.

Every piece of documentation was for an alias, but one that she had used before. She took every precaution possible, but there was always a trail to follow for those who knew where to look, and at the end of that trail was the real her. She couldn't allow that to happen.

The elevator passed the first two floors without stopping. Arcade kept her breathing steady. She counted off each long second until the _ding._

Arcade was out in the hallway while the doors were still opening, moving fast, heading left toward the stairwell at the end of the corridor, maybe thirty feet from the elevator. Closed.

She didn't need to press her ear against the door to hear two sets of feet leaping up the stairs. They were fit, strong, maybe twenty-ish seconds away. She needed time to secure her things, time she seemingly didn't have. Unless she made it for herself.

A fire axe hung on the wall in its protective case along the corridor. Arcade smashed the glass with her elbow and lifted it from its perch. Returning to the stairwell, he pushed the blade under the door handle, wedging the bottom of the haft on the floor. It was a good fit, sturdy.

There was also a fire extinguisher beneath where she'd taken the axe. Arcade hoisted it up in her left hand and moved back to the elevator. It was still on the 4th floor. She pressed the button to open the doors.

Suddenly the stairwell door shook violently but the handle remained rigid, the axe preventing it from turning regardless of how much strength was applied. They tried again, more forcefully but again the handle didn't budge. After that, there were no more attempts.

Arcade turned her attention back to the elevator. She placed the fire extinguisher between the open doors, leaned inside and pressed the button for the lobby. They closed as far as the extinguisher before retracting and repeating the endless cycle. Arcade estimated she'd bought herself atleast two minutes. She only needed one.

She reached her room without a sound and stood before the door. There could be others waiting for her inside. They'd be alert, ready. She imagined opening it to a firing squad of muzzles, but she had to do this. Standing to the side of the door, she turned around and kicked the door in, then immediately dropping down into a low crouch, reducing her profile, head lower than where center mass would typically be. It took a split second to survey the room, another second to check the en suite bathroom.

Clear.

There were the two in the stairwell, plus the surveillance outside, and possibly others elsewhere in the hotel. They were good, organized. If they were really good, they would've had a sniper.

Jokes on them though, Arcade's view looked out on the edge of Middle Park. She could get a view of the Libertonion from where she stood.

Arcade went into the bathroom and took the lid off the toilet tank, retrieving the ziplock bags within. One contained her passport, plane ticket and credit cards. She removed the items and placed them inside her coat. The second had a loaded Glock 22 within, with an attachable suppressor. It always paid to prepared, Arcade reminded herself. She tore the bag open, took the gun, screwed the suppressor in place and racked the slide back.

An attaché case containing a change of clothes and the rest of her possessions was already packed and sitting on the bed. Arcade grabbed it with her left hand and went, keeping the Glock out of sight down by her right side. She walked briskly down the corridor, alart, away from the stairs and elevator, heading for the fire escape. She would be long gone before they realized what had happened.

She stopped.

If she left, she would leave without knowing nothing about her would-be killers. Whoever had sent them wouldn't just call them off. She was on someone's hit list now. If they had found her so quick, they could do so again. Next time, she might not spot them so quickly, if at all.

They were a numerically superior force, but they lost the initiative. One of the first things she's learned about combat was to never give away the advantage.

Arcade turned around.

They came into her room breathless, guns in hand. One moved to the right of the door, the other stayed to the left. The target's door was ajar, the lock broken. The taller of the two, the more senior, took a second to double-click the send button of the radio transmitter in his inside pocket. A whisper came through his wireless flesh-coloured earpiece.

The assassin made a quick hand signal to his partner and they burst into the room. The first went in fast and low so the second could fire over him if needed be as he followed directly behind. The first man swept the left hand side of the room, the other the right. Maximum speed, aggression and surprise to make anyone inside defensive, stunned, slow to react.

The room was empty. They checked the bathroom—more of the same. While one covered the other, they examined the closet, under the bed, anywhere they might conceal a man, no matter how unlikely. They had been told to be thoroughly, to leave nothing on chance. They checked behind the curtains, and even outside of the window—nothing.

Each room was a mess. The target had obviously fled in a hurry, not hanging around long enough to take all her belongings. Clothes were strewn about on the floor, the bed was unmade, toiletries left by the sink. It was sloppy, unprofessional.

Both men relaxed slightly, breathed a little easier. She was gone. They hid their guns in case anyone came their way. When the elevator had refused to appear, they had no other choice but to run back up the stairs and break down the stairwell door. It hadn't exactly been quiet.

They left the room, pulling the door shut behind them. The more senior of the two lifted his collar and reported into the attached microphone that the target was gone. He was careful with his choice of words, not to imply any mistake on his part. They weren't worried, all of the buildings exits were covered, one of the other team members would spot him and move in—might even be doing so at this very moment. The target was as good as dead. Each of the team members was due a large bonus when the job was complete and they hadn't even had to fire a single shot.

Their boss had told them to be careful, that their target was dangerous, but now the nerves they'd felt seemed misplaced. Their _dangerous_ target had fled at the first chance she had, and now was now someone else's problem. They shared the same thought. Easy money.

Their faced changed when they learned the target hadn't left the building, that none of the others had even reported a visual. The two men looked at each other, their expressions silently echoing the same question.

Where was she?

Arcade stepped away from the spy hole of the door opposite and raised her handgun. She fired, squeezing the trigger 7 times in rapid succession, emptying the magazine of roughly half of it's capacity. The hotel door was thick, solid pine, but the .40 S&W rounds inside the Glock penetrated with just enough energy to cut through it with barely any loss in velocity.

Lowering the handgun, Arcade heard two heavy objects hit the carpet, one thud after another.

The door creaked in front of her. She'd kept it shut with her foot, having broken the lock to gain entry. She pulled it open with her left hand and stepped into the hallway. In front of her, the first man was slumped on the floor, propped up against the door frame of Arcade's room, head hung forward, and blood running from the mouth and collecting into a pool on the carpet. Apart from a twitching left foot, he made no movement.

The other was still alive, lying face down on the floor, making a quiet gurgling noise. He'd been hit several time-in the gut, chest, and neck where the ruptured carotid artery sprayed against the wall with a long, bright red crimson arc. He was trying to crawl away, his mouth open as if screaming for help but making no sound.

Arcade ignored him and reached inside the dead man's jacket, searching unsuccessfully for a wallet. He went to take the man's radio receiver, but it was in pieces, a bullet having passed straight through on the way to his heart. In a shoulder holster, Arcade found a Vom Feuer AP Pistol, with two spare magazines in a pocket. The AP Pistol was a classic, reliable weapon with a 16-round magazine but at the same time it was a heavy, bulky handgun that, even with an attached suppressor, was impossible to conceal completely. With subsonic ammunition being non-existent for the gun since it used its own proprietary armor piercing round, it wasn't exactly ideal for a wet work operation like the one they were in now. If the guy wasn't already dead, Arcade might have shot him again.

The AP Pistol normally wouldn't have been her preference but at times like this where there was no such thing as too many guns. Arcade took the handgun and tucked it into the back of her pants, the grip supported by the waistband, the suppressor running down her coccyx. The body jerked suddenly, perhaps some muscle spasm and tipped forward. The jaw fell open and a cascade of collected blood poured out, followed by half of a bitten-through tongue flopping onto the carpet. Arcade raised her hand towards her nose and turned her attention to the one who wasn't dead, yet.

He stopped crawling when Arcade's heel pressed down between his shoulder blades. Arcade rolled the man onto his back and squatted down next to him, pushing the Glock's suppressor hard into the man's cheek. He forced his head to one side to keep the violent arterial spray directed at the wall and away from herself. Where it hit, the pressurized blood tore at the floral paper.

The man was trying to speak but could only manage a wheezing exhale. The bullet lodged in his neck had ripped through his larynx, and he could only make the most basic of sounds. He tugged at Arcade's coat sleeve, trying to claw at her, not giving up the fight despite his inevitable fate. Arcade respected his perseverance.

Like his partner, he was also armed with an AP Pistol and equipped with a radio and earpiece. Arcade grabbed his AP Pistol and pressed down on the mag release to eject the magazine, then proceeded to rack the slide back to chamber out the round. Once that was done, she checked the rest of his pocket. They were empty except for a few sticks of chewing gum, more spare mags and a crumpled receipt. She took the gum and the recept, seeing it was for half a dozen coffees and discarded it. Arcade unwrapped one of the sticks of gum and folded it into her mouth. Peppermint, she nodded her approval.

"Thanks."

She shook off the hand and moved towards the stairwell to check for others. No sign of any more assassins but voices carried up from below, female, complaining about the elevator. Arcade made her way down the corridor, careful to avoid the darkening stains on the carpet and moved the fire extinguisher from between the elevator doors. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. She'd left some of her belongings in the room, but she wasn't concerned. The toiletries were brand-new, the clothes hadn't been worn yet, and everything that had been handled would be free from fingerprints thanks to the silicone solution on her hands.

As the elevator doors closed shut, Arcade was greeted to her reflection. She took a moment to straighten her appearance. In her current surroundings, if he looked anything but presentable, she would be noted. As the hum started, she heard a faint scream. Someone had just gotten something of a surprise.

What a mess.


End file.
